


Relatable Paladin Feels

by zuzuzukas_dream



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen, I Know Nothing About Food, M/M, The Movie, keith gets. emo also, klance, lance gets homesick, this is a repost of an oooooold fic, uh you can interpret it otherwise tbh i just wanted to explore their dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-30 02:17:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11453886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zuzuzukas_dream/pseuds/zuzuzukas_dream
Summary: Lance revisits thoughts about his family. Keith joins in.





	Relatable Paladin Feels

**Author's Note:**

> JUST TO CLARIFY I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT ACTUAL FOOD DISHES PLease forgive me
> 
> this is a repost if u didnt read it in the tags. help

Lance feels pretty sick, and sleep is evading him. So, he's kinda faced with some issues, emotion-wise.

It's always the food. With every gurgle and spit from Lance's stomach, he remembers what he could be digesting at that current moment. His mind compares the two images: his ma's home-cooked dishes of Heaven, dazzling in an array of colours, spiced and salted and brought to life in an absolute harmonious celebration of all that food was meant to be - and... whatever grubby slime Coran has located for them today. Yikes.

And, whenever these two images come together, the contrast burns his retinas and sends him spiralling into a pit of self-pity. He grows so incredibly homesick that his tear ducts wibble and leak and he gets all snotty. Or, maybe that's just some kind of allergic reaction. His body protecting him. Regardless, he's always considerably brought down by the thought of having to avoid actual decent cuisine for the rest of his Paladin life. Which is his predicament often before bed.

"Supper," he mumbles to himself. "Supper, he says. Supper, which is supposed to be a friendly meal, sending you off to bed with a smile." His spine prickles with a long shudder. The blue-black emptiness of the castle halls looms above and behind him. "It's not supposed to give you a Goddamn nightmare reel."

Speaking aloud is good for a man who feels comforted with the sound of his own voice, and naptime in Castletown means it's even more delightfully helpful. Here he is, spine tingling and eyes watering, a pillow in his arms to act as defense as well as a nice surface to lay on if he finds himself sleeping elsewhere tonight. Not that his long, janky legs will fit onto it, or anything below the chest for that matter - but, it's better than waking up to seven different types of cramp.

It occurs to him that he doesn't even know if it's night. It occurs to him that he only understands the concept of night and day because of his time on Earth.

The guys out here, they don't really get it - they're just sentries, confined to the walls of a barren existence. They don't get day or night. It's just... Zarkon time. Hah. That sounds kinda funny. Imagine if that was his punch line.

"It's Zarkon time," he mimics, his voice teetering on the edge of speech and dipping into a whisper. He even briefly makes a more solid, battle-ready stance, before chuckling at the ridiculous nature of it. A big ass villain, with an empire of 10,000 years strong, acting like some kind of classic meme. Lance's bare feet feel numb against the floor, and he suddenly wonders if, uh, them being freezing cold isn't great.

Talking of scenery, actually, the boy's eyes find themselves drifting above. Blue lights greet him - no unusual sights here, but the grandeur of the architectural genius within the chambers of the Castle always has him a little mesmerised at the least. So, like looking in the mirror.

The curved shapes of pillars, beams, fountain-like columns merely amplify the height of the room, as opposed to taking up any space. In such large areas, he doesn't believe anything short of their five lions could make the place feel cramped. Not even the Paladins themselves after a banquet of that slimy stuff. Oh, and he's back to the food. His stomach starts to cry, and he pats it in apology.

A little, "shit," passes his lips. His still-lifeless feet make gentle and slowing taps as his stride draws to a halt. With a sigh, and a soft squeeze of his pillow, the sea of his thoughts rippling into calm, he repeats himself. "Shit," he breathes.

With whatever dumb thought he has, with whatever sly jab at Keith, it's always there. This little clock in the back of his mind: it ticks away, counting his hours - minutes - seconds spent up here. Ticks in ticks, and not seconds, actually, considering that he's been in the company of aliens and whatever else for... months? It just constantly goes on, and he can't help but dwell on it in the silence and in the cuisine-less times, because he never said goodbye to ma.

Before he knows it, he's found himself a seat, and that pillow isn't it. The floor is uncomfortable against his bony ass. He doesn't care.

In his head, he can't help but debate it.

On the one hand, it's fine. He'll be back. They'll stop Zarkon, and by doing that, Earth and all the families of the Paladins will be saved, as well as the entire Universe. Then, they'll ride back in with Allura and Coran, all dressed up and having cleaned their lions or whatever (do they need cleaning?), to be greeted by the gratefulness and generosity of everyone on Earth. They'll get to eat ma's food, and Coran will at last be expelled from the kitchen for good, and the name Lance will be given to one in five of all babies from that point on, and. And.

On the other hand, that... might not happen.

A grumble of frustration escapes him, and like a teenager tends to, he cuddles the pillow between his hands, beneath his cheek. "Fuckin'... Fuckin' Zarkon, man," he mutters. His voice is lacking its usual amount of zest, but nobody's here. "Sittin' there, bustin' ass. Calling us weak and trying to take our lions." He knocks his hand against a pillar alongside him. "Empire, empire, empire. Doesn't he have a family?"

Probably not. That's probably part of why he's, you know, evil. "Zarkon more like Za-. Zasshole." Lance's brows crease, like he's going to cry. But, he's blatantly not about to cry, especially not alone and with a pillow crushed into his face like the protag of a romcom or whatever. Not even whilst his subconscious considers that he hasn't seen anyone in too long. No uncles, aunties, siblings. None. Not even his grandma. Sweet, sweet grandma.

"Lance?"

He startles like a cat and screeches like a banshee. Lips baring back in a show of gritted teeth, eyes narrowed, pillow held out, he takes on that battle stance from earlier. This time, the nerve endings in his feet actually cry out for him to put some bloody shoes on.

And, when he opens his eyes, they open to Keith, who is fully dressed and full of a smug kind of surprise for all of about two seconds. Then, he takes in the sight of Lance's face, and that look fades. Concern replaces it.

Lance reels back, heart and head pounding. He coughs as he wipes his eyes. "Well, well, well." His voice edges on a quiver, heightened against Keith's quiet calm. "Look who it is. Mr. Emo Weirdo. What're you doing up at this hour? Embracing the darkness or something? Stalking me?"

Expectantly, Keith blinks at him. "Uh, I'm actually just struggling to sleep. What about you?" He adds, flat and with dipping brows, "You're crying."

"Now, that is not what I'm doing, actually." Lance replies, one hand tugging the pillow to his side and the other waggling a finger in Keith's direction. Of all people, this guy had to turn up? The last thing Lance needs is a smart ass. "I'm just having a moment."

"A... moment where you're crying. Is that why you're out here?"

Lance flusters at his intelligent ruse being shattered so quickly. "No," he snaps. Then swallows. "I just, y'know. My stomach started hurting after supper. Must'a been something in the goop."

Keith comes over and leans on the pillar that previously was against Lance's back. Now it's a short distance away, putting them at a close proximity where they can see each other clearly in the dark. "Yeah, actually, I've been kind of put off it after tonight. Felt pretty whoozy afterwards. I'm really praying that we stock back up soon with better food, if these are what we're left with in the emergency reserves."

"I know!" Lance's voice increases in volume fast, because he didn't think that one would work. The only bad side to it is that now it rings true for him, as well - that's why his stomach's been so vocal. "We have a cook on the ship, and his name is Hunk. Do we have a decent reason why he isn't in charge of our food intake?"

Keith's head bobs to the side. "To be fair, he doesn't know, uh, alien food as well as Coran does." Then his eyes slip shut, and his arms - surprise, surprise - do that typical fold across his chest. It's like their natural resting position. "But, he sure knows his way around a good meal. I'm gagging to have anything that doesn't resemble what comes out of a digestive system."

Seemingly forgetting all efforts to not appear like a child, Lance pulls his pillow back to his chest. "Gross! Keep that to yourself, okay? Normal poop doesn't look like that. The rest of us don't deserve to be dragged into your twisted world of... whatever it is you're trying to describe."

Keith just sort of looks at him, and he has been for a few moments. It's blatant that he isn't interested in bickering about toilet-related issues. He's still got that feeling that he did when he first walked up. Just as Lance is about to pry into his reasons, the dark haired boy asks, "Not that you'll thank me for asking, but are you okay? Honestly?"

There's that look that he does, too. The raven eyes and slim lips, narrowed into a line. Lance frowns.

"Yes," he demands. The lilt in his voice doesn't help his case. "I'm just sleepy and whatever. I-I was rubbing my eyes, 'cause that's what you do when you're tired, and then you waltzed up at the completely wrong moment-"

"I heard what you were saying further down the corridor," Keith interjects. There's a slightly sheepish nature to his countenance that Lance doesn't seem to pick up on. "I couldn't just walk away when you were talking about family and stuff. I know it's... really important to you and Pidge and the others."

And, there you have it. Ruse or no ruse, Lance has himself in a knot. He stammers and flusters, and then avoids Keith's eyes entirely.

"Oh," he says. "Well," he says. "Uh," he says. His cheeks are heating up. "Well, whatever. I was just feeling ill, and it got me thinking. Zarkon's a real big jerk, and we all hate him. Relatable Paladin feels, right?"

"Right," Keith repeats. "But... You know."

Lance's eyes follow Keith's face as he turns to the side and hesitates.

His voice can't decide whether to be solid or feathered with his words. "You know you can talk about that kind of stuff, right? If it's not all up there, and you're... actively doing something with your memories, and wishes, and whatever else... It might not feel so distant?"

"Wow, hello Mr. Wise Guy." Lance snorts and decides to take the seriousness of those words and sit on them. Literally. Standing sucks for a tired guy, and even if now he has to crane his neck to look up at Keith, stupid metaphors aren't going to stop him from palming the soles of his feet. Besides, he can't look at him anyways.

"Actually, they're Shiro's words. And he got them from Allura." A slight smile graces his lips as he grunts and sits across from Lance. There's something reaching about his nature tonight. It's weird. "So, by that knowledge, they're definitely wise. They've been sitting in an ancient spaceship-slash-Castle for decades upon thousands of years, and they still ring true."

Lance's lips have settled into their usual pout. He doesn't quite take to being talked nicely to by somebody he's trying to be in rivalry with. "Yeah, but whatever. It doesn't bring us any closer to meeting our families again. I mean, what about you?" He lifts his head up from his pillow, having assigned himself to the fact that this conversation is going to have to happen. "Do you talk about your family? Does it help?"

With that, Keith's face begins to subtly change. Although Lance can make out his features, the shadows and his knowledge of Keith limit him from identifying the emotion across those eyes. "Well, actually... No, and yes. As in, I've only talked about them maybe once or twice with Shiro, so it's really not often, and yeah. It helped. It really did, because now there's someone who - well - knows."

"Knows?" Lance's eyes are focused now, chin pushing out atop his knees.

Keith licks his lips and palms his knees with gloved hands. There's a nervousness to him - no, a deliberating nature. Keith usually knows what he's doing, where he's going, who he is. Seeing the guy topple even a little, and mentally, is almost exciting.

And then it isn't, because Keith says, "I never knew my parents. They're probably dead."

He doesn't stop there, either. Lance is left to simply raise his head, brows and eyelids, jaw slack, as Keith continues. "I... have only a few memories of it. Blurs. Little echoes of things I think might have been said, or that I might have dreamt. It's weird - a big mess of things that just don't entirely fit together." The boy's hands work to try and make spherical shapes, and other fiddly gestures. It's an attempt to make it more understandable, but Lance thinks the explanation itself works pretty well. It makes some sort of sense.

"That's... Well, wow," Lance murmurs. Dumbfounded, his hands readjust on the pillow and he rocks a little. "I'm sorry, man."

After going to speak again and failing, Lance just stares and hopes that Keith isn't going to be super disheartened with the silence. Even if he doesn't like the guy, it must be really annoying for something that important to you to be a kind of conversation killer. For a few moments, he simply sits somewhat anxiously, one step away from twiddling his thumbs.

Keith scratches his neck, beneath the high collar of his jacket. "Yeah. No, it's fine. Kind of. I don't really know how I feel about it, which is probably similar to how you guys feel, ironically. It's not like you need to be wary around me." He's already backtracking. Like he's woken up from a delusion. Like he's somewhat embarrassed, but trying not to show it? "I didn't mean to just land that. I thought it might get you to talk a little. And I'm tired."

Great going, Lance. Super popular with the people, right. Where'd your mouth go? "No, no," he stammers, a hand coming up in protest. "I just-. I didn't think about, like. We all have our problems, so we should be here for each other like true Paladins and stuff. And I've been whining about my family when you didn't even... Man, I just..."

Softly, Keith tries to interrupt. "It's fine-"

"I mean, I'm not saying I've been an asshole, because what's important to us is always gonna be important to us," Lance goes on. "But, you know, it's just that I was super susprised. It's weird to suddenly be alerted to other people's feelings."

"Lance, you're babbling," the raven boy laughs.

"You wanted me to talk, fucker," comes Lance's rather quick retort.

And Keith's laughing again, but this time a little louder. He shakes his head, eyes closed momentarily. Lance's lips linger in a distant smirk as he watches him, and a huff of a chuckle escapes them. The corridors take the harmony of it and echo it down, around, and through the Castle, and the boys are a little absorbed in the weird few seconds that just passed.

Silence settles again, finding itself across them like a chill. Lance's eyes focus ahead somewhere along the floor. The tiles lose their shine in the limited light, so there's nothing much to focus on.

"Well, maybe I was lion," Keith says quietly, glancing up at Lance and waiting for him to tune into the joke. Which he does, a second later, and the volume of the room rises yet again with his laughter. He's the only one laughing now, though; Keith's gaze stretches across the room, and it's a little emptier.

So, Lance pauses, and thinks, and then speaks. An unusual feat, but still done pretty quickly.

"I used to cook with my ma," he says. Keith's attention is on him rather quickly. "I say cook with. I mean more... I learn things here and there, get distracted by how good the food smells, start getting really hungry and thus stop learning. A process that, despite my many tastings of food, never ceased to repeat itself."

The other Paladin's face lightens. "Tastings of food?"

"Hush. Storytime."

Keith just smiles at that and leans back, letting his hands fly up. "Okay, okay. Continue on."

"So anyways. Her cooking was the best. And, like... Y'know when we get served that slop?" With a nod of confirmation from his companion, he brings up a hand and crosses his legs. "It just reminds me of what we could be having instead. I'd invite you all over! We could bring the family, and my auntie could help, and my sister's real funny. Like me. Similar ages. Everyone's always surprised that we get on, 'cause usually kids our age and our age difference just kinda hate each other."

"But, we don't." Lance's tone changes. It's a little softer. A little less smooth.

"I see why you'd miss that," Keith says. Lance's eyes are drawn upward. "So many people to compliment you."

Lance's mouth forms an 'O', and his hands swipe in a wide gesture. "Okay. No. Look, man, I like compliments. I love compliments! It's what a guy like me deserves for being born this handsome. But, man. You have never had the torture of having your sloppy ass, old ass grandparent friends calling you a handsome boy and all. Extensively. Like, all the time. 'Oh, when are you getting a girlfriend?' 'What kind of girls do you like?' 'Aren't you engaged yet?'"

These impressions come with special voices and hand gestures, too. Keith is watching amused, and Lance then points at him. "No. Dude. You don't get it - I was like, 12 when they started asking me like that. That's probably around the time you were in, what, your scene phase?"

"How did you know about that?" The boy mockingly appears alarmed, and Lance just shakes his head.

Something in the Castle whirrs, sending a shudder of rumbles throughout the walls. They both pause to try to find out where it's coming from, their heads twitching like dogs set on flies. It's futile, and they find themselves just falling back into place. Keith looks at Lance, and Lance looks at Keith. Then it gets awkward, so Lance starts to speak.

"Thanks," interrupts Keith. "I mean - I don't want it to seem, you know, weird, but... Uh. I know it's probably private. Talking about your family."

Caught off guard, Lance blinks. "Oh - oh, no. No sweat off my back, honestly. It's not that private, it's just... Talking about it does make it real for me." He pouts in a different direction. It's more than a bit awkward for him to talk about this, especially to Keith. "And, y'know. Feelings, or whatever."

"Eloquently put," replies Keith. He actually starts to get up, surprising the boy still on the floor. "But, uh... No, I get that. I don't really know why I pressed so much. It's just that I find it's better to talk about it than to let it all swim around in your head."

"Do you feel better?" Lance asks. Genuine curiosity laces his tone.

"What... do you mean?"  
"Uh, I mean. You confessed something super deep to me." The boy's brown eyes are skittish in a slight fluster. "You said my stuff was private, but you literally sat there and told me your family's-. Sorry."

Keith's face is mostly out of Lance's view by now. Even as he stands up, pillow in hand, feet still frozen - dear lord, Lance, please do something about those - the darkness shrouds it from him. He doesn't seem too angsty, though, because he says, "It's fine. It felt right to talk to you about it - you know, since you were crying about it."

"I wasn't, like, super crying!" Lance protests. Keith then turns to him, that grin back. It instils a piece of confidence in Lance. "Look, buddy. I was fine. Then I saw your ugly face and my tear ducts were just, like, whoosh."

"Oof. Ouch. Savage, Lance."

To finish the blow, he nudges him in the side as he starts walking ahead. He assumes they've both decided to go to bed. "I am savage. It's why you'll never beat me."

Keith, hands in his pocket and chin to his chest, leaning back, stares at Lance's feet. "Maybe it's because I've already won." His voice is jokingly ominous, and Lance just throws the pillow over his shoulder and cackles in response. "No, seriously. Are your feet okay? Do you need to borrow my socks?"

"Gross," Lance says, fake retching. "Do you always have to be like that?"

The lights, forever aqua and surrounding as they delve deeper into the corridors of the Castle again, bring life to their darkened shapes, and then pass by. There's an ethereal glow to them. It's certainly enchanting.

"No. I just love to do it when you're around. You like to piss me off, don't you?"

"Yeah, but I don't need to use gross humour to do it-"

"That's true." A smirk widens on Keith's face. "Your existence is enough."

Lance swivels and starts walking backwards, with his eyebrows furrowed and his lips pulled to the side. He faces Keith, who strolls with his hands in his pockets. "Cold, Keith. Cold. I thought you said we'd bonded."

A lilt to his voice, Keith says, "And I thought you claimed that didn't happen because you didn't remember it."

"Touche, douche," Lance slurs. Then he turns around again, one hand falling to swing at his side. As they approach the stairs to the dorms, this arm outstretches to slide a hand along the bannister. Behind him, Keith takes the other side of the stairs.

They fall quiet again, but the atmosphere fails to die.

-

"So, punk. I guess this is where we part ways," says Lance, casting a million dollar smirk over at Keith as he poses along the inner section of the doorframe to his room. It's opened automatically, but instead of entering, he watches Keith approach his own, one arm up and the other on his chest. It's very, "draw me like one of your French girls".

Keith takes one look at him and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Oh, my God. Go to bed, Lance."

"There ain't no God in Space," comes the reply. He grins as he brings his hands down and says, "I'm not gonna sleep now. I just know it. It's gone past me."

Keith laughs shortly as he slips off his gloves, finger by finger. "Go to bed, Lance. I don't care if you aren't sleepy. I'm seconds away from passing out." He then looks up to him, running a hand through his hair. "Can't you just put on your music?"

Lance rolls his eyes. "Yeah. But, thanks to you talking my ear off-"

"That was you."

"-I'm just... not tired. I feel like going and bothering Pidge or something, but I'd lose a damn limb if I did." He then imitates getting a leg chopped off and hops around, making gargling and spluttering noises. Keith's reaction is little, but he raises his brows and looks toward Pidge's room.

"You'd better be quiet, then," he says, "before you wake him up. And go. To sleep."

Desert skin tinted and turned shades of blue, Lance at last groans. "Whatever. You can't tell me what to do." Then he presses the wrong button to open his door, also known as the close button, and tells Keith to shut up.

"You're weird when you're tired. Go to bed," Keith drawls, seeming more exhausted by the minute. It seems he's truly given up his energy for the night on his and Lance's dumb and actual intellectual conversation alike. Lance's eyes focus on him in the not-quite-dark, and he finds himself just smiling again, even though it's pretty odd for that kind of happiness to be found in the walking example of Why Lance Needs to Big Up His Own Ego All the Time.

Lance, finally disappearing into his room, calls back a: "You're weird!", which cuts short with the fwump of the doors closing. With one last glance at the distant ceiling and a mutter of something, Keith wipes his eyes and follows Lance's lead. The doors shut behind him, a red glow emitting from lines traced into the surface of them. The corridor is lit up with all the colours of the Paladins, despite none of them actually being out there.

The Castle whirrs and creaks again, and off in the distance, something clicks into place. Other than that, it's relatively silent, until Shiro pops out of his room like he's lost. His cheeks are red, and it looks like he's been hurrying.

"... I'm sure I just-," he starts, eyebrows raised, eyes soft. He looks confused. "Lance?" he asks to the light and to the darkness of the corridors. To the stairs. Then he simply frowns, with a somewhat pitiful aura as he slinks back into his room. Fully suited. The door closes, and the purple light crosses the corridor again.

**Author's Note:**

> AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA I STILL LOVE KLANCE IM WEAK FOR KLANCE


End file.
